


Kiss the Sky

by maracolleenbanks



Category: Dreamwalkers Universe
Genre: F/M, Gods, Ouroboros (Dreamwalkers), Venus (Dreamwalkers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 08:17:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15457143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maracolleenbanks/pseuds/maracolleenbanks





	Kiss the Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dreamwalkers Universe](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/404352) by Siren Tycho and Mara Colleen Banks. 



The sky was blue and empty of clouds, and the sun beat down hot on the rolling hills of Venus and the river that threaded between them. The river stretched, feeling into her length from her source in a mountain spring to her mouth at the sea. Small ripples of pleasure tingled on the surface of her water, and she sighed contentedly. 

“Enjoying yourself, Freya?” asked a voice from on high. 

It was Freyr. He was speaking as either the sun or the sky. From her view as the river so far away, it was impossible to say which one, and that irritated her. It was true that he had purview in sun _and_ sky, but everyone knew that gods were only supposed to conflate to one thing at a time. He said it was different for him. Since he was made by the sun, there was something about him that was sun all the time, so he could do things others couldn’t. 

Something in Freya’s gut told her that his double conflation—even if they were only just playing—was a bad idea, but she couldn’t say why. Probably, she should have argued about it, but it would have been her word against his, and the most likely thing to happen was that he would prove it couldn’t be done. 

Only, he wasn’t proving that it couldn’t be done—or, if he was, he wasn’t admitting it. 

“So, which one are you, then?” she asked.

“I’m both!” he said. “See?”

The sun winked as a gentle breeze ran down her entire length, tickling. She giggled, and the sun bore down hotter, erasing the coolness of the breeze. She strained against her banks, reaching for the breeze that she knew must still exist higher, higher, but her nature as river tied her to her banks. 

“Now, now,” Freyr said. “It’s far too soon for evaporation. I didn’t go through all the trouble of conflating just to have a quickie, did you?”

As if to answer his own question, the cooling breeze returned, and Freya settled into her banks again only to have Freyr immediately take the breeze away and bear down hot with the sun. She rose up to meet him, burning with desire for something more substantial than the millions of sunbeams penetrating her depths, but his refreshing breezes barely brushed the surface of her water, the most grazing of kisses.

This kind of teasing had not been part of his argument when he suggested playing with double conflation. The picture he’d painted was of the sun heating the river until the river evaporated enough that river and sky could meet in the air and mingle. Usually, a scene like that would have taken three gods—one conflated with the river, one conflated with the sun to evaporate the river, and one as the sky to meet the river’s rising—but, apparently, Freyr wanted it both ways. He wanted to be the teasing sun and fucking sky.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Freya whined. “I can’t hold back anymore.”

“Freya, Freya, you have more self-control than that,” Freyr teased and bore down even harder with the sun. 

The surface of the water shimmered. “You know that isn’t how this works,” Freya panted.

“You mean, you don’t want admit this is turning you on,” Freyr said. 

The river splashed, but, even with a goddess behind it, the water couldn’t reach the sun. Separated from its source, Freya lost control of the water, and most of it turned to vapor in the heat.

“Damn it,” Freya said. “That isn’t me.”

The vapor rose and condensed into clouds and giggled. 

“If that isn’t you, who is it?” Freyr asked. 

“I have no idea,” Freya said.

The cloud formed itself into the shape of a girl, tumbled a summersault, and dove for Freya-as-river with her arms out in an impending hug. As the clouds neared the ground, they transformed into a fog bank that embraced the river.

“Maker,” the fog bank cooed. 

Freya formed the river’s water into a body of water, sat up, and embraced the fog bank. 

“She might not know who she is, but she knows _whose_ she is,” Freyr said.

“I didn’t think it was possible to make an oops-construct,” Freya said. 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Freyr said. 

“It makes as much sense as someone being the sun and the sky at the same time,” Freya said. 

“That’s the real reason we weren’t supposed to do that, isn’t it?” Freyr asked.

“It seems to be,” Freya said. 

Bored with hugs, the fog bank rose into the air again and became clouds, forming herself into a reflection of the world as she saw it—river, hills, sun—her first family portrait. 

“What do we do?” Freyr asked. “We’re not supposed to make anyone while we’re running a planet.”

“She doesn’t seem to know that,” Freya said. “Anyway, she seems to be running herself just fine.” 

“We should probably call her something, shouldn’t we?” Freyr asked. 

“ _Caitlyn,_ ” Freya said, the Infernal word for “clouds.”

“Obviously.”


End file.
